


as the sun spills above the horizon

by marcobodtsotherhalf (savvyBibliosoph)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (but not really hurt. just mild mentions/implied nightmares), Comfort, Comfort/Fluff, Drabble, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvyBibliosoph/pseuds/marcobodtsotherhalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just have those days (mornings can be hard).</p>
            </blockquote>





	as the sun spills above the horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling sick and missing classes today, so I wrote a little thing to help calm me down and make myself feel better.

There’s the soft discontented sound of someone waking too early to properly function. The sun is still low in the sky, the light gentle and golden, accompanied by the chorus of birds, yet it is still harsh against sore, half lidded eyes.

Jean blinks against the rays that shine through his blinds, which lay a pattern of stripes across his face. He shifts slightly, then winces, throwing his forearm over his face, groaning louder as he happens to encounter an unfortunate spot of sunlight.

There’s an empty spot on the bed beside him, sheets crumpled, and pillow threatening to fall off the edge of the bed. When he rolls over, flinging an arm across the space he can feel the crisp coolness of the absence of body heat in the sheets.

Marco has been up for a while.

It’s this realisation that has Jean sitting up, sleep shirt falling off his shoulder as he glances around the room and taking note of the disarray. 

The violent mess on Marco’s side; his pillow and side of the sheets are a mess, his bedclothes have been left carelessly on the floor, and the door left open a crack, all these signs suggest a restless night. 

Probably nightmares again.

 

Jean finds Marco curled up on the sofa, a well-loved book in his hands, held before his vacant eyes, and the knitted blanket Marco’s grandmother made him for Christmas snugly around his shoulders and hooded over his head. There’s a cup of tea on the small wooden table, watermarks already evident. 

Without a word Jean shuffles over, the cool air in the open room causing goose bumps to rise on his skin. 

Marco does not look up.

Jean clambers ungracefully over the back of the sofa, sinking down just next to Marco, thigh tucked snugly behind his back. 

Marco shifts into his arms immediately and naturally, like a flower uncurling to soak in the sun. Head tucking under Jean’s chin, his dark hair ruffled by the blanket which slips off his head. He fits between Jean’s legs like he was the missing piece in a puzzle.

Jean wraps his arms around Marco’s shoulders, shifting them both so he can nuzzle Marco’s cheek sleepily, and presses kisses to his temple, down to the cold skin of his ear. 

Marco lets out a bodily sigh and shifts downwards so he can press his head against Jean’s chest, the comforting beat of his heart throbbing against his cheek.

 

They’re silent, but it’s okay. Because they’re silent together; the last of the tension that held Marco’s shoulders taught, draining away as he lies in Jean’s arms, listening to the soft sigh of their breaths which slowly fall in sync; breathe in, and breathe out.


End file.
